


It's Me Or The Liquor

by MALLR4TS



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Withdrawal, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguments, Break Up, Drinking, Drinking problems, F/M, M/M, Other, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26463184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MALLR4TS/pseuds/MALLR4TS
Summary: A misunderstanding during an argument leads to you storming off, crying over what Bill's done.Gender-neutral reader!
Relationships: Bill Williamson/Reader
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a tumblr writing prompt!!
> 
> Tumblr and Twitter are @MALLR4TS

Bill's drunk yet again. This is the second time today, and the fourth time this week. And it's only Wednesday! He's getting worse lately; usually, he's bad, but recently it's been agony. Maybe he was approaching the anniversary of his deployment and didn't want to be conscious to experience the pain, or maybe he was more stressed and worked up than usual. 

You'd tried talking to him many times, as a friend and as his other half, but he'd always brush it off and mumble "I'm fine. You ain't got nothing to worry about."  
It's all lies. He's not fine, and you have so much to worry about. There's so much on your plate, so much stress, so much fear. You don't want to bury Bill when the alcohol finally takes him, or have him damage his brain so much that when he finally becomes sober, he doesn't remember anything, especially you. 

He's currently sat by himself at the round table near Pearson's wagon. It's late afternoon, and the Lemoyne air is thicker than usual. Damn this swamp, and damn Bill for working you up. It's selfish of him, to have you worrying like this when all he needed to do was accept his problems and fix them. Sure, it's a big step and not as easy as it looks, but you've told him time and time again that you're willing to help him. The whole gang is willing to help him, but first, he needs to help himself.

"Bill?" You call out as you approach him.

"Sweetheart!" He slurs, looking over as you approach. He leans back a little too much, almost slipping off his seat. "W-why don't you come join me, huh?" Bill offers. 

"No, Bill. We gotta talk," you sternly tell him. 

"We is talkin', ain't we?" Bill laughs. He's right, but that's not at all what you meant.

"No, Bill. I mean real talk. I've had enough," you say. Bill's picked up on your defensive body language and the frown on your face.

"What's a matter? What you... What... you had enough of?" Bill stumbles. He's really sloshed, but at least he's responding. 

"This drinking, Bill. It's gotta stop, for good." You have to put your foot down. Every time you've spoken to him you've been soft, not wanting to hurt him, but enough is enough. You take the bottle from his hand, swiftly chucking it out of camp, spooking the chickens as it flies over their head.

"What the hell?!" Bill's quick to his feet, knocking over the crate he was sat on. "Why'd you do that?" He almost shouts, trying to turn around and walk over to find his discarded bottle, but you put your hand on his arm, stopping him. He's always obedient with your touches, even if he is drunk. 

"Listen to me, Bill," there's a grit to your teeth, and your tone is strong enough to have a very shocked Bill turn and face you. "This drinking ends today, alright? I can't deal with this anymore. All you're doing is stressing and upsetting me. I'm tired of this, it's hurting me just as much as it's hurting you." 

"What in the hell are you talkin' about? I'm fine, you're fine. There's ain't nothin' to be worried about." Bill shrugs your comment off as always. 

By now, most of the camp is watching, concerned for both of your safety, and curious as to where this is going to go. 

"This ain't fine, Bill! You know it, you just keep pretending it is," you shout. You've never shouted at Bill before, but you're finally at your breaking point. "It's me or the drink, Bill. I don't want this anymore!" 

"Well, you know what?" Bill slurs. He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to reply. “I don’t want you anymore."  
He was meant to say he didn't want you to keep bothering him about his drinking, but his drunken brain had spilled the wrong words out of his mouth. It was too late for him to explain what he really meant; your heart had just been shattered for the last time. 

"Fine," you tell him, sniffling lightly as tears began to fall. "We're done then." 

You're quick to turn heel and walk away, not wanting to waste any more time trying to get through to a drunken fool. 

"Wait, no. That ain't what I meant," Bill calls out after you, trying to chase you but you speed walk away. Bill ends up stumbling over within a few paces, groaning and mumbling to himself as he sits upright. 

He looks around but you're already gone and all he's greeted by is the many disappointed and disgusted faces of the camp members. "What is you all lookin' at?" Bill barks to them, trying to shove them off but none of them are budging. 

"You fucked up, Bill," Arthur sternly tells him. "You just picked the hooch over your other half." 

"Why would you do that? ___ does so much for you! They're been tryna get you to quit it for months now and all you do is make things worse," Tilly butts in. Mary-Beth has her hand on Tillys shoulder, quietly telling her to leave it. 

"I'm going to go see if they're alright," Susan tells the gang, ignoring Bill on the floor. She storms off, following your tracks, ready to mother hen you. 

"Shit, leave me be!" Bill mumbles as he stands up. He walks away in the opposite direction. 

"Moron," Bill overhears Arthur mutter under his breath. 

All Bill wants to do is grab another bottle and continue to drink the pain away, but he can't. For once, the thought of alcohol makes him feel sick. The thought of you makes him feel sick, but not in a disgusting way, more like he's sick with himself for acting the way he did towards you. 

His heavy steps lead him to the back of Shady Belle, grumbling to himself as he sits down beside one of the trees, overlooking the field and the lake in the distance.  
Despite the alcohol in his system, he no longer feels drunk. The shock of the breakup seems to have sobered his thoughts and vision up, and for once he realizes what a mess he's made. 

There's no way you're going to take him back, is there? There's no way he can fix this, especially after you've spent so long trying to help him. All Bill's done was throw everything back in your face whilst giving you the middle finger. Shame on you for trying to help him. 

Bill soon realizes he can hear the faint sounds of you sobbing. You're sat over by the boathouse, sobbing into Susan's arms as she coddles you, telling you you did what you could, that you're a good person, that he doesn't deserve you. 

Bill wants to get up and walk away, not wanting to hear those sounds, but he continues to sit there, letting the sound of you crying from his mistakes scold him. Hopefully, he'll use those sounds as a wake-up call, finally quitting the drink and focusing on fixing his mistakes.

We can only hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i felt like a bitch leaving the fic on a sour ending, so i fixed it!!

It's been a few weeks since the incident with Bill. The gang is still stuck at Shady Belle, and Dutch has been yapping to everybody about some bank robbery for a while now. Something in your gut tells you that it's a bad idea, but your thoughts and feeling have mostly been drowning over Bill. He's barely been around, occupying himself with heists and robberies, staying out of camp as much as possible and far away from you. The few times you've seen him, he's kept his head down and walked the other way. 

In some ways, you're happy that he's keeping his distance, but you can't help but notice his permanent glossy eyes and the shakes he's been getting from the alcohol withdrawal. He hasn't picked a bottle up since the breakup, and although you're happy he's quit, it's still a shame things had to be this way. Maybe this was the slap around the face that Bill finally needed, though he never expected you to be a casualty.

There's one thing neither of you had done, and that's talk. Most couples tend to have that 'talk' after they break up, usually letting off steam and urging out whatever feelings were leftover, but you'd not said a word to that man. Bill hadn't said anything either, but you'd seen the way his mouth had partially opened and quickly shut whenever he was around you. 

It seems Bills fuse has finally come to an end, as he'd made it his mission today to talk to you, hopefully about what had happened. 

The Lemoyne air always feels sticky, even at night. You wipe another layer of sweat off the back of your neck, wiping it off on your pants, your eyes flicking back to the campfire. You're on guard duty, a camp chore that often gave you time to yourself to just think about things. Nobody ever came round these parts, probably still assuming it was crawling with Lemoyne Raiders, meaning you could let your guard down just a little bit and spend that extra focus on thinking about whatever was bothering you. 

Unfortunately, Bill was always bothering you. You'd questioned yourself over and over on if you'd take him back, and despite having countless arguments with yourself, the answer is always yes but only on certain terms. If he could keep the hooch away, then yes, simply because you know the second he picks it up again, he'll drown himself in it. And Bill needs to find a way to make things up to you; changed behaviour is at the top of your list, though you'll also accept a fancy dinner or a new outfit. The thought of Bill dressing up in his undersized tux to take you out always brings a smile to your face, and you catch yourself smiling at the thought now. 

You overhear those distinct heavy footsteps approaching, and your heart both sinks and flutters at the same time. 

"___?" That deep voice calls out but remains soft and timid. 

"Bill?" You respond, your eyes focusing on the landscape. 

"Could we talk?" Bill asks, still stood a meter or two behind you.

You pause for a moment and decide that yes, you definitely want to talk. "Alright," you respond. 

Bill takes his time approaching, slowly settling onto the stool beside you. His eyes flick over to you but quickly moves them to the campfire instead. He's quiet for a good few seconds, his mouth repeatedly opening but nothing comes out. 

Finally, Bill speaks. "I err... I guess you know what I'm wantin' to talk about?" Bill asks. 

"I do, yes," you respond. 

"Well, it probably don't mean much to you, but I am sorry for what happened," Bill tells you. You remain silent, giving him time to continue as you can tell he has a lot more to say. "I ain't touched a bottle since, the thought of booze now just makes me sick-" 

"It's a shame you had to sacrifice me in the process," you cut him off. You didn't mean to snap, but you can't help the anger that begins to bubble in your chest.

"Like I said, I'm real sorry," Bill pouts. "You was right. You were just tryna help me and all I did was take you for granted." 

"And not listen to me," you add on. 

"And not listen to you," Bill repeats, nodding at the same time. "I was really foolish, treatin' you like that, not listenin' to you..." 

Your eyes have been fixed on the landscape this whole time, but the faint sound of a sniffle makes you snap your head away, looking over to Bill. He's hunched over as always, his forearms resting on his knees, his back slightly arched. Bills head is dipped down, almost staring at his feet, and the brim of his hat covers most of his face, but you can tell from the way his nose twitches that he's crying. 

"Bill?" you question. 

"What?" he asks, a little bluntly.

"Are you crying?" 

"What? No. I... I don't do that," Bill tells you as he quickly wipes his eyes, his hat still covering his face.

You're quick to your feet, taking the few steps over to where Bills sat. He keeps his head down, still sniffling away. You bend down and reach out to cup his chin, but Bill slightly flinches. He eventually remains still and allows you to gently tilt his head up, though his eyes flick away to stare at anything but you. 

"Bill," you sigh, noticing his glossed eyes and the salted trails over his cheeks.

"What?" he asks again, acting as if nothing is happening. 

You crouch between his legs, one hand still on his chin, the other resting on his knee to steady your weight. Bills eyes finally lock onto yours and you notice the way his bottom lip starts to shake, probably also biting his tongue to try and stop himself from crying. 

"Bill, I gotta tell you something," you say. 

"What is it?" 

"Since... that event happened, I've questioned myself over and over on if I'd ever get back with you."

"Would you?" Bill asks, almost cutting off the end of your sentence. There's both hope and fear in his eyes as they meet yours. 

"I keep arguing with myself about it, but I always decide that yes, I would get back with you." 

Bills eyes light up as you speak, his heart pounding in his chest, but he refuses to get his hopes up yet. Bill knows from experience that every time he becomes happy, something bad always happens, stealing that moment from him, so he refuses to let his guard drop this once, knowing things will only get worse if he does. 

"I don't get why, I ain't treated you right at all. I've been a sorry excuse for a partner," Bill beats himself up, his eyes trailing to the floor again. 

"Apart from the drinking, you've been an angel," you say with a smile.

"You mean that?" 

"I do." 

Although Bill wants to call your bluff, he sees no bluff in your eyes, only a warm heart and a gentle smile looking up at him, something that he thinks he doesn't deserve. 

"I still don't deserve you," he replies. 

"Maybe not," you say with a small shrug and a laugh, "but I think you do."

"Are... are you suggestin' that we could... maybe work things out?" Bill asks as his eyes meet yours, a tear trailing from the corner of his eye as he blinks. 

"We could, but I still expect change from you," you reply as you catch the tear before it hits his beard. 

"Sure, I got it. I ain't gonna be touching the booze no more, I can promise you that," Bill says as he raises his hands. 

"And you've gotta make it up to me," you add.

"How?" 

"I ain't gonna tell you, you've gotta put some thought into that." 

Bill pauses for a moment, already thinking of the many ways he could make things up to you. "Alright," Bill says with a small nod. "Sweetheart," he quietly adds on, nervously looking away. 

"Oh, Bill," you sigh, cupping his cheek and brushing your thumb over his skin, still slightly damp from his tears. 

"Come here," Bill says, his hands flexing as he urges you onto your lap. 

Bill pulls you onto him, swinging your legs over his as his arms wrap around your waist. He cradles you, holding you like a baby as you snuggle your head into the curve of his neck, his beard brushing against your forehead. Bills hands knead at your shirt, eventually settling with a firm grip on you. 

"I've missed this," Bill mumbles as his cheek rests on the top of your head, his heartbeat echoing against your ear. 

"Me too," you admit. 

"You have?" 

"Of course I have." 

Bill doesn't verbally respond. He pauses for a brief moment, letting your comment sink in, before holding onto you tighter, bringing you in for a bear sized cuddle, his body almost wrapping around you.

A large part of you wants to cry, not just because you have Bill back in your arms, but because the feeling alone of him holding you is enough to bring you to tears. Like Bill, you're never had anybody pay you much attention; most folk look straight through you, but Bills ears perked up the second he saw you, and the more the two of you spoke, the more you realised how similar you are.

Bill has to fight the urge to apologise over and over, wanting to tell you how truly sorry he is for what happened and the way he spoke to you. He holds himself back, scared that his insecurity and repetition will scare you away, although he knows it's going to take a lot more than that. 

Instead, Bill just holds onto you, enjoying the way you're curled up in his lap, despite his thighs going a little numb. He'll sit there for as long as you'd like, happy to have you in his arms again, appreciating you more than ever. He's already thinking about the many ways he can make things up to you, and he plans to do them all.


End file.
